


there's not enough cosplay in your life

by RowboatCop



Series: There's Not Enough Cosplay in Your Life [1]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Costumes, Coulson has always wanted to be Leia, F/M, Hand Jobs, Makeup, Star Wars - Freeform, cross-dressing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-19
Updated: 2017-05-19
Packaged: 2018-11-02 13:39:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10945638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RowboatCop/pseuds/RowboatCop
Summary: Daisy & Coulson getting dressed up.





	there's not enough cosplay in your life

**Author's Note:**

> Sort of unofficially following [this fic](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7423984), what with it fulfilling a fantasy Phil has had since he was ten. (But that's basically canon, I don't make the rules.)

“This looks so good on you,” Daisy says as she fixes his lipstick with a fingernail sliding across his skin, just at the hypersensitive edge of his lower lip. It sends a shiver zinging down his spine, and his cock somehow gets harder. He’s been hard, pressing against the zipper of his jeans, since she climbed into his lap on the bed to do his wig and makeup, and now it feels like he’s almost pulsing between her thighs, even though she’s barely touching him.

“Yeah?” He sounds to hopeful to his own ear, but she just smiles down at him.

“Oh yeah.”

She produces a tissue and slips it between his lips, so he presses down, watches as she pulls back a faint impression of the bright red lipstick she’s painted across his mouth.

He puckers and pouts, turning his head and showing off even though he hasn’t actually seen the results of the wig that falls over his ears and lipstick and the blush and the soft brown eyeliner.

“ _Really_ sexy, Coulson,” she whispers, and she _means it_ , which is almost more than he can handle. He’s been terrified of this, if he’s being honest with himself, afraid it would all become a joke, but it hasn’t. _She_ hasn’t let it be a joke at all, and he’ll be forever grateful for that.

The makeup — and Daisy's reaction to the makeup — makes him feel sexy, so he slides a hand up the back of her head, careful not to displace her wig, and tugs her down to kiss her. She brushes her lips over his softly, and it feels different with the lipstick on, but good. It’s been a long, long time since he kissed someone while wearing lipstick. He flicks his tongue against her lip, and Daisy moans, presses herself harder against his groin, but pulls her mouth back.

He can’t help the disappointed groan.

“We’ll smear your lipstick,” she reminds him, though she also brushes her thumb along his lower lip in a way that makes his whole spine tingle, looks earnestly disappointed about the lack of making out.

“You could redo it after.”

“Hmm,” she sighs, presses her mouth against his again all-too-briefly. “Put on the rest of your costume first.”

He makes a noise again, a whine that’s a little disappointed but mostly _hopeful_ because it’s kind of fantasy fulfillment — actually this whole costume idea is _complete_ fantasy fulfillment, more than he’s meant to let on, even though they had talked about it a lot, about the makeup and the dress and the undergarments they bought to go underneath.

They rise off the bed, and Coulson starts removing his regular clothes.

She’s already dressed except for her vest and a blaster, her hair already tucked up in a short wig that he has an embarrassing desire to run his fingers through. Her costume gets even better as she adds those missing elements, then strikes post for him as he’s finishing undoing the buttons down his shirt, aiming her toy blaster at him with her other arm held back, and she’s _so_ completely inhabited the part.

“How do I look?”

“Like a scruffy-looking nerf herder,” Coulson answers, unable to hold back his smile or muster anything even approaching the character-appropriate contempt into his voice. She laughs and sort of _saunters_ over to him as he pushes his shirt off his shoulders and starts on his jeans. Her fingers land on his fly, and she takes over the process of opening him up, of pushing off the denim and the cotton boxers underneath. He kicks off the remaining clothes even as her palm rubs against the length of his cock, her fingers almost fluttering — brushing far too lightly over him.

Coulson moans at Daisy’s fingers, and then specifically at Han!Daisy teasing him. His eyes slip closed in pleasure, only to pop open a moment later when she presses his silky white dress into his chest. The white panties and tights they’d purchased to go underneath still sit on the dresser top.

“Hurry up, your Worshipfulness, we don’t have all night.”

He laughs, especially when Daisy hits him with a cocky grin broken by her own softer smile.

Still, his hands shake as he steps into the garment, turning to let Daisy zip it up, her fingers playing against his spine all the way up. The silky fabric swishes on his naked body, down his chest, over his hips, around his thighs — it feels sexy, erotically draped over his skin.

When he turns around, Coulson strikes his own pose, hand on his hip cocked to the side, his own imaginary blaster held up in his right hand.

“What do you think?”

Instead of answering, she reaches forward and runs her hand down his chest, circles her fingers around his cock over the silky fabric and strokes twice. And everything about it — the foreplay from before, her costume, _his_ costume —  makes it almost too much to handle.

“Daisy,” he breathes her name in and out, followed by a disappointing pout when her hand falls away.

“Han,” she corrects him, and then her fingers slide up his thigh, under the high slit on the side of his dress, and wrap around his bare cock.

“Han,” he moans, and leans in to press his mouth against hers as she jacks him off, only to be disappointed when she pulls back.

“Lipstick,” she mumbles, then presses her lips to his neck, kissing and then _biting_ under his ear as her hand moves over him. There’s a moment of awkwardness as she adjusts his dress, rolled up around his waist and out of the way, but then she pushes him against the wall and licks her hand before picking up her pace, drawing him to the edge of orgasm with her fingers and her teeth against his earlobe.

“Leia,” she whispers there, maybe a little uncertainty creeping into her voice, but it’s what sets him off, pulsing into her hand and moaning something in between _Han_ and _Daisy_.

There’s a moment after, when she pulls away to grab a nearby tissue, that he feels a twinge of shame — or maybe he just _expects_ to feel a twinge of shame. He looks over Daisy’s face carefully, searching for any indication that she’s uncomfortable with this, but she just smiles at him and then presses her lips against his carefully.

“Later, I’m _so_ gonna mess up your makeup,” she promises, lips barely brushing his with each word, and Coulson smiles against her mouth, drops the doubt that had started to seep in.

“I love you,” Coulson whispers as he nuzzles against the side of her face.

“I know,” Daisy answers, though she speaks the words too softly for her character, nothing cocky about them, especially paired with the way she hugs him against her chest like he’s precious. He doesn’t mind.


End file.
